Sound the Bugle
by unplugged32
Summary: The man sitting at the bar was Dean Winchester...and yet is wasn't.


Title: Sound the Bugle

Author: unplugged32

Rating: M

Characters: Dean/Jo, Sam, Ellen

Category: Angst,Drama

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made, no harm intended

Heartfelt thanks to: Serenitysangel for making me fall in love with Sam and Dean, for beta and creative input and for holding my hand! And to mserupt and feistyred for pulling me into the fandom

Authors note: This is the M rated version; personally I prefer the NC-17 version posted at LJ. If you'd like to read that one, please leave a comment and I'll friend you; a link to that journal can be found in my profile. Thanks.

* * *

_Sound the bugle, play it just for me_

_As the seasons change, remember how I used to be_

_Now I can't go on, I can't even start_

_I've got nothing left, just an empty heart_

_I'm a soldier, wounded so I must give up the fight_

_There's nothing more for me, lead me away_

_Or leaving me lying here_

_Sound the bugle now, tell them I don't care_

_There's not a road I know, that leads to anywhere_

_Without a light I fear that I will stumble in the dark_

_Lay right down, decide not to go on_

_-Sound the Bugle, sung by Bryan Adams, written by Greenway/Horn from the soundtrack Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron_

**PartI**

South Dakota, November 2018

The man sitting at the bar was Dean Winchester…and yet it wasn't.

That was his name, alright, of that she was sure, but the man who sat slumped over his whiskey was nothing like she remembered. Ten years had aged him twenty, his dark blond hair still cut the same but streaked with silver, same went for the stubble on his face. She watched him from where she sat at the other end of the bar and felt an old wound open up in her chest. So much about him was familiar; the clothes, the pendant around his neck, the silver ring, but nothing was the same. The lines around his mouth were new, so were the dark smudges under his eyes. And he was thin, even thinner than the when she'd first met him twelve years earlier at the roadhouse, after the accident, after he'd lain in a coma near death.

She'd seen him plenty of times over the past decade but not recently, not since he'd stopped visiting her mother, not since he'd fully withdrawn from the world. She was wary about approaching him, not sure how he would react, but she had a job to do so there was no avoiding it. She took a long sip from her beer and slid off the worn bar stool, making her way slowly towards him.

"Hey, stranger."

If he was surprised to hear her voice, he didn't show it, didn't even flinch. Not bothering with the glass he took a long pull straight from the bottle, and motioned for the bartender to bring him another.

"You're dead," he said flatly, not even bothering to turn around.

Jo chuckled softly and sat down beside him. "Right you are, Dean-o, been dead these past 8 years. Chupacabra in Tennessee, remember? You ended up spending a month at my Mom's, trying to stop her from eating a bullet."

"I figured you were there, watching," he said matter-of-factly. "I felt you, you know."

Jo felt an odd flutter in her chest. "I know."

Dean sighed, and started on the fresh bottle of Jack in front of him. "So what can I do for you?" he asked curiously, still not facing her.

Jo grimaced. "For one, you can stop drinking and let me take you home. You're a mess, Dean."

"This, from a dead chick," Dean replied, his laugh humorless. "I don't even want to know how you managed this one; should I be reaching for the holy water, Jo?"

"For someone who's seen it all, Dean, I'm surprised at you. Demons prefer living bodies, you know that. This is different and I'm here for a reason, you dumbass. Now put down that bottle, and let's go." She reached into her purse and took out a few bills, slapping them onto the bar.

Dean put the bottle down and turned slowly, bloodshot eyes searching her face almost hungrily, and Jo felt a fissure slice through her heart when his eyes went damp. "You're still as beautiful as the last time I saw you," he told her quietly, one trembling hand reaching out to touch her cheek.

"And you're still the same pain in the ass," she told him firmly, taking his hand from her face and using it to pull him off the bar stool. "There'll be time to reminisce later, buddy. Now, we need to go."

Subdued, Dean nodded and let her lead him out of the bar like a small child, even let her put his seat belt on for him when he slumped back into the passenger seat of her car. "Where're we goin'?" he asked, his words slipping and sliding into each other.

"Home, or at least that shithole of a cabin you call home. We need to talk and at least it's private."

Dean grunted and shut his eyes, silent as Jo drove the two miles to his place. Once there, she had to shake him awake and pull him from the car, sighing loudly as she dragged him up to the front door.

"Keys," she said, holding out her hand.

"In my pocket," he slurred and Jo stuck her hand in his jacket pocket, searching.

"Pocket of my jeans," he told her with a lecherous grin, and Jo let out an exasperated breath and punched him hard in the shoulder.

"Give me the keys, Dean," she ordered evenly, giving him a look that said the next punch was going to hurt a lot more.

"You're lucky I don't salt and burn you, bitch," Dean grumbled as he handed over the keys.

"Won't do any good, Dean, so don't bother. I told you, this is different." Jo unlocked the door and pushed Dean inside, guiding him along until she practically threw him into an arm chair.

"This place is disgusting,' she told him, wrinkling up her nose at the smell.

Dean laughed. "Well, since I didn't actually invite you here, tough shit."

Inwardly, Jo steamed. She pushed aside a pile of newspapers and sat gingerly on the worn sofa. The place wasn't only filthy, it was depressing and tiny. Just enough room for a sofa, chair and table, kitchenette off in one corner and two doors that she guessed let to a bedroom and a bathroom.

"You need a shower Dean, you smell bad. I'll make coffee in the meanwhile."

Dean grunted. "Listen, sister, I'm not doing anything you tell me, especially since you're probably not even real. I'm dreaming, having a nightmare, actually," he told her, reaching for the half empty bottle of whiskey on the table, "and when I wake, you'd better be gone."

She'd known this wasn't going to be easy, had known Dean a while before she'd died, but this 'new' Dean was even more pig-headed than the old one she remembered. Jo knew she'd need to get straight to the point to get him to listen.

"Listen, buddy, I've got better things to do than sober up smelly drunks but I'm here for a reason, Dean, a good one, and you're gonna listen. It's about your brother…"

The bottle slipped from Dean's hand and rolled onto the floor, unbroken, its golden contents seeping into the dirty floorboards.

"What about my brother?" Dean asked slowly, suddenly sober, his green eyes glinting dangerously.

"I see I have your attention," she replied sweetly, finding a can of instant coffee and a chipped mug. There was an electric kettle by the tiny gas burner and Jo filled it from the tap. "Shower first, Dean, then we talk."

Dean rose and crossed the room in two long strides. "You bitch! If you've done anything to my brother, I swear I'll…"

"You'll what, Dean?" Jo asked, arms crossed over her chest, "You'll kill me? Jesus Christ, you're such an asshole. I'd never hurt Sam! You know I love him like he was family," she told him indignantly.

Dean's anger faded slowly, one hand scrubbing at the stubble on his face in a way that was so familiar to her the gesture stole her breath. It took all her willpower not to pull him into her arms and soothe away the sadness that seemed to be permanently etched on his tired face.

"Have you eaten today?" she asked him softly.

"I'm not hungry," he replied automatically. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just…"

"Shower, clean clothes, coffee and then we talk," she told him firmly and to her relief Dean nodded and stumbled off towards the bathroom. When he shut the door behind him and she heard the water start to run, Jo wept.

**Part II**

Dean took so long in the shower that Jo started to worry. Eyes dry but still red she did her best to compose herself and knocked tentatively on the door. There was no answer from inside but she heard the water shut off and that was good enough. She'd done her best to clean off the small coffee table, and set up a tray with some crackers she'd found in a cupboard, the tin of coffee, two mugs and the kettle of steaming water. Still waiting for Dean she filled a trash bag with various take-out cartons, empty bottles and week-old newspapers and took it out back to the bin. She'd just started on the sink when she heard the bathroom door open and then the bedroom door open and shut. Washing the last of the dirty dishes, Jo wiped her hands on the back of her jeans and sat down on the sofa to wait for him.

She tried hard not to stare when he emerged from his room moments later dressed only in jeans and socks, a black t-shirt in his hands. He'd towel dried his hair but hadn't bothered to comb it and Jo ached to run her hands through it, smooth it back, the thought making her blush hotly.

She quickly fixed the coffee, looking away as he slipped the shirt over his lean torso. She handed him a mug and he nodded in thanks, sitting down in the armchair across from her.

"So, this is about Sam," Dean stated simply. "Who sent you here and why?"

"When's the last time you…saw him?"

"Jo, you know damn well that I don't 'see' Sam…ever," he told her flatly. "It was part of the deal that I made, you were there, even played your part."

"Yeah, Dean, I know you don't interact with him, but I also know that you check up on him from time to time. So when was the last time you swung by his house and looked in through the window?" she asked him, her tone harsher than she intended.

"Fuck you, Jo," Dean replied sullenly.

Jo sighed. "I don't want to fight; I'm here to help you…to help Sam."

"Jesus, woman, who says Sam needs help with anything? Can't everyone just leave him the fuck alone?" Dean ground out angrily. "He's got his practice, his girlfriend, he friggin' plays golf, what could he possibly need help with?"

"Dean, calm down!" Jo told him, frustrated. Outside the sun was waning, the tiny cabin now dim with shadows. Jo studied Dean's face in the fading light. It hurt her, physically, to see him like this, so worn out and weary and…lost.

"Dean, Sam is…Sam is starting to remember." There, she'd said it. Now she waited for Dean to lose the expression of shock before she continued. "He's starting to have these nightmares or visions if you will, of you and your parents, the fire, Jess. At the moment it's just fragments of his old life, but slowly they're all coming together and it's scaring the hell out of him."

"Son of a bitch! I made that deal so that he could have a life! This wasn't supposed to happen!"

"Yeah, well, Dean, one would think that you of all people would know that making deals with demons isn't exactly good business. Look, I don't know exactly why this is happening, but I'm here because I'm supposed to offer you a choice, a choice that could very well save the both of you."

Dean laughed, a sharp, angry sound, before he buried his face in his hands. Jo watched silently, heart breaking as he tried to compose himself. "I don't need saving, sister," he told her finally, his voice brittle. "If you're here to help Sam to forget again, I'll do anything you ask…anything…just lay off _me_, alright?"

Jo nodded slowly. "Throw some clean clothes in a bag and we'll drive back to the bar to get the Impala. We have to go."

"Go where?" Dean asked abruptly.

"Go to Sam. You just said you're willing to do whatever it takes. So pack your shit and let's get moving. We're running out of daylight and you may not be hungry but I am. Something about being dead for a long time," she told him, her mouth curving into a grin.

The grudging half-smile that Dean gave her in return nearly sent her to her knees.

**Part III**

They drove in silence, Triumph playing softly on the radio, occasional drops of rain hitting the windshield, the night pitch black under the dark storm clouds that hid the moon. Dean had done as she'd asked on autopilot and within ten minutes they'd been on their way to the car and then on the road towards Boston. Back then, when he'd had to choose, Dean had been dead set against California, terrified that something there would awaken Sam's memories and destroy his little brother's life. So he went with Boston, far enough away from Stanford but still a good place for Sam to start over. Of course, he'd never really expected that to happen, he'd been promised it wouldn't, but he'd been afraid nonetheless. Looks like his instincts, as always, had been right.

It was nearly midnight when Dean decided that he couldn't drive any further. He was too tired, and too hung over to go another mile. They'd stopped for dinner earlier, but he'd only had coffee and a stale donut, despite Jo's insistence that he eat a proper meal. She was paying after all, she'd told him cheekily, showing him a wallet full of cash and valid credit cards to prove it. Dean only chuckled, made a joke about her being much better off in death than she'd ever been in life, to which she'd answered by throwing a buttered roll at his face.

God, he'd missed her, this girl with her smart mouth and her sassy smile. She could hustle pool or cards just about as good as he could yet she had the face of an angel and a body so sinful he felt his jeans growing tight at the crotch just thinking about it. When he'd heard of her death, Dean had gone straight to Ellen's, sharing their grief for weeks before he'd realized that it was probably better if he left her alone. He'd done his best to be strong and supportive in front of her, but Ellen was a smart woman and she'd known he was hurting too, and bad, and somehow he'd thought that couldn't be good for her. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Jo that he'd sensed her there. He had, at night, alone in bed or when he would sit in her room, moping, feeling sorry for himself, for everyone he'd lost. It had been a soft touch on his face, or a gentle hand on his shoulder, just brief enough for him to think he might have imagined it. Dean knew better though, knew she'd come to look after her Mom, liked to think she might have come to look after him as well.

Jo picked the hotel. No crappy motels like the kind he had Sam had practically grown up in for her, something Dean was glad for, wondering if he'd break down and bawl like a baby if he saw a room that reminded him of Sam. One of Jo's numerous credit cards paid for a clean, comfortable room with two double beds at an upscale chain hotel they'd seen from the highway. Dean carried their bags while she checked them in and once they were settled, Jo peeled off her clothes until she was wearing only her underwear and announced she was going to take a shower. Dumfounded, Dean could only stare at her petite curves as she sauntered to the bathroom and he groaned, one hand going straight to his crotch, pulling at the fabric there, trying to ease the pressure off his erection.

By the time she came out of the bathroom he'd stripped down to his jeans, leaving socks, shoes and shirts tossed haphazardly across the room, the ache in his groin eased somewhat by the gruesome details of a triple murder somewhere in Florida on the news.

"Remember when something like this would've had you in your car, racing across the country to see if it was our kind of thing?"

Dean turned to her, swallowed hard to remove the lump in his throat when he saw what she was wearing; black boxers and a black cotton strappy top of some kind. Plain, simple, but still sexy as hell.

"Haven't done that in so long I don't think I even remember how," Dean told her, turning off the TV. He sighed and turned off the lamp beside his bed, desperate to hide his aching erection under the covers.

"Done what?" Jo asked innocently and Dean realized at once that his words had masked a double entendre.

"Jesus, Jo," Dean breathed, his eyes going wide as she moved closer.

"Oh, come on, Dean, lighten up," she told him jokingly, sitting down on the bed across from him. "You look exhausted, by the way, and you haven't eaten all day; we could order room service?"

She was teasing him, and it was working. God, he'd wanted her from the first minute he'd seen her in the roadhouse all those years ago, but had known in that same instant that he could never have her. Now, 12 years and a lifetime of grief later, what was stopping him?

"If I told you all I want is you, what would you say?"

Jo smirked. "I'd say that's a cheap pick up line."

Dean sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed, the bulge in his jeans fully visible. "Ok, how about I say it nicer. Jo, I'd like to make love to you, is that alright with you?" he said huskily, their knees touching.

Dean heard her little gasp of surprise and took that as a yes. He reached out and took her hands, pulling her forward until she sat in his lap, his mouth searching out hers, his hands buried in her soft, blond hair.

He had no idea how she was even there, real, alive, smelling like Jo, her skin warm and her heart beating loudly against his lips where he kissed her neck, but here she was, in his arms, her crotch pushing against his groin, and Dean thought he might come before they even got started. Breathing hard, he pulled her off his lap and gently pushed her back onto the other bed, supporting himself on his arms while he kissed her slowly, afraid he would crush her with his weight.

"I won't break, Dean," she whispered, reading his thought, snaking her tongue into his ear, her hands going to his ass, bringing his erection to rest against her crotch.

Dean moaned and rolled them both on their sides until they were face to face, barely touching, her small hands exploring the mess of scars across his chest, her fingers tracing the faded tattoo over his heart. He gasped when she started teasing his nipples and at once he pushed one hand into her boxers, a cheeky grin on his face when she bucked forward at his touch.

From that moment on, it was all a blur. Dean made love to her with an intensity that left them both reeling. When they were both spent, he wrapped his arms around her tight, pulling her as close as he could, moulding her body against his, face buried in her hair, one hand stroking her back.

In that moment, it came to him in a flash of horrible clarity; this was perfect, this was what he'd always wanted, and this would not last.

If not for the fact that he couldn't, hadn't been able to in years, Dean would have wept.

**Part IV**

Dean woke before dawn, Jo wrapped snugly against his chest, the down-quilt that covered them both keeping the morning chill at bay.

He couldn't believe that his cock twitched when Jo moved closer in sleep. He'd deeply regretted taking her like some cheap whore the first time and made it up to her by making love to her slowly, taking his time to bring her the kind of pleasure she deserved, letting himself go only when he'd been was sure she was completely satisfied. After, they'd fallen into an exhausted sleep, the best Dean had gotten in ages. When he woke semi-hard, he was pleasantly surprised. He was pushing 40 and he was a full fledged drunk, a combination that wasn't doing his sex life any favors.

He woke her with a hand between her legs and another on her breast and Jo sighed, rolling onto her back as Dean made love to her, faster this time and more desperate, but deeply satisfying to the both of them.

"Shower, breakfast, and then we need to go," she told him regretfully, planting one final kiss on his full lips before going off to the bathroom. Dean followed her, teasing her in the shower playfully but it was just for fun, for the intimacy, as neither of them was ready for another round just yet.

They ate breakfast in quiet companionship, Dean hardly touching his food though and it shamed him that his hand shook when he raised his coffee cup to his mouth.

"You don't need me to tell you that you have to stop drinking, Dean," Jo told him softly, and there was no judgment in her tone, only concern.

"Yeah, well, it's been a rough couple of years," he told her sheepishly.

"I know. And for Sam as well," she said tentatively.

Dean frowned. "Jo, he's been happy. A normal life, what he always wanted."

"Maybe…maybe not. I know for a fact though that he's been lonely, despite his friends and his girlfriend. No family, right? All dead in a car crash?"

"Yeah," Dean said, looking out the window of the diner. "A clean slate, his memory affected by the accident, or so he thought. Why the hell didn't it just stay that way?"

"Demon deals, Dean, nothing good ever comes out of them. But honestly, I'm thinking that it has nothing to do with that, and more to do with Sam's deep bond with you, with his family. Besides, ever since the two of you killed Lilith…and her army…there aren't a lot of demons left that even know about Sam, let alone want to mess with a deal that someone else made."

"Unless it's, you know, _her_, coming back to make trouble…"

"No, you've kept up your end of the deal, Dean, I can assure you it's not her."

"So why you, Jo? And why now? Are you gonna tell me how you got here? Should I be thinking 'guardian angels' and stuff like that?" Dean asked her, persisting, needing to understand.

Jo smiled sadly. "It had to be someone and I guess I was the right person for the job. Look, I'm here to help, that's all I can say. Please, just trust me, and know that I would never hurt you or Sam…never."

Dean nodded, pushed his coffee cup away with a troubled sigh and dug into his pocket for his wallet. The amount of money in the billfold was embarrassingly pitiful but he insisted on paying. Jo let him, and Dean could tell she did so only to save his pride from taking yet another blow.

The ride to Sam's would take hours and Dean found himself so at ease, happy even with Jo beside him, he almost let himself forget why she was here, what would happen when it was over, when they 'fixed' things for Sammy, when he went back to his crappy part-time job at the garage and Jo went back to…well, wherever she'd come from.

Near dusk, they pulled into a small town about a half hour away from the upscale suburb where Sam lived and Jo found a little bed and breakfast for them to spend the night. After a quiet dinner in the dining room, they went to their room, and before they even got the door closed, Dean had Jo up against the wall, his tongue in her mouth, his hand teasing her through her jeans.

"Jesus, baby, I want you so bad, so bad.." Dean moaned against her throat, demon deals and live-saving choices forgotten. There was only Jo, real, alive, her hand cupping his groin, the other under his shirt. In a tumble of limbs they ended up on the bed, half-dressed, Jo riding him, her orgasm bringing a loud cry from her throat that Dean silenced with a hand over her mouth that tasted like her. When she quieted, he flipped her on her back, and ground into her so hard he thought he would break the antique bed.

Exhausted but content they lay in each other arms silently, Dean holding onto her for dear life even as he slept.

**Part V**

Sam Winchester was 35, had a successful Law practice in Boston and lived in a nice house with his nice girlfriend who happened to be a doctor. They had two dogs, a gardener, played golf with friends on Sundays and despite that fact that his entire life before the age of 25 was a blank, he had a nice life.

Ten years earlier, he'd woken up in a hospital bed in Boston, a social worker in the chair beside his bed. As gently as possible, the young woman, an attractive blond with undercurrents of an attitude, told Sam that he'd been in a car accident that had killed his parents and his older brother on their way to the wedding of a family friend. Sam couldn't even grieve, since he couldn't remember a thing about his old life, even after the social worker had taken him back to his family home, his dorm room at Law school, even after a steady stream of friends and family came by to pay their respects. Still in shock, Sam had allowed her to take care of all the arrangements, the funerals, sort out the hospital bills. She'd even recommended a lawyer to handle his parents' estate. When it was all over, he'd found himself in an off-campus apartment, a sizable sum of money in the bank and a huge hole where his heart should have been.

It had taken time, but gradually, Sam began to live again. He'd finished law school, passed the bar and after a few years in a big firm started up his own. He was wildly successful, mostly due to the fact that people simply liked him and of course, it didn't hurt that he was good at what he did. His girlfriend, Susan, who he intended to marry, was crazy about him and Sam, for all intents and purposes, led a charmed life.

Of course, the fact that it was all a sham had shattered Dean's heart and driven him to drink more than any of the thousand other reasons he'd had to end up a worthless, useless drunk.

Everything had been planned so carefully, down to the last detail, Ruby handling the entire charade. She'd played he part of the social worker, taken Sam to a perfect illusion of their Lawrence house in a nice Boston suburb, showed him countless pictures of John, Mary and Dean, paraded Bobby and Ellen and Jo and other trusted friends of John's as distant relations and family friends and not once did Sam ever show the slightest flicker of recognition.

Dean had been dead-set against her creating a 'fake past' using the real players. He was terrified that doing so would bring it all back to him one day. Ruby was the witch though and she'd promised him that her spell would work, that using his real family to create his imaginary past would just make it easier. But according to Jo, Ruby had been dead wrong. Not only was Ruby's spell 'wearing off' but the props she'd used appeared to be speeding along the process. As they sat in the Impala outside of Sam's office building, Jo explained that Sam was having debilitating visions and nightmares of his past, some so bad his girlfriend Susan had taken him to the ER on more than one occasion.

"So how do we stop it?" Dean asked Jo, terrified and oh so desperate for a drink. "I haven't heard from that bitch Ruby since that day, as agreed."

Jo took Dean's hand in hers, and gently squeezed. "Ruby can't help us. And even if she could, I wouldn't let her. She can't be trusted, Dean, you know that."

"So then why are we here? Aside from Bobby…and your Mom, I don't have ay hunter connections anymore; there's no one I know who can scare up a witch to cast a new spell," Dean said sarcastically. "Come on, Jo, just get to the point."

Jo let out a long breath. "Dean, you and Sam are being offered a choice. A choice to go back to that day…the day that you, and Sam and Ruby used the ancient relic to kill Lillith."

Dean let out a harsh laugh. "Yeah, the day I found out that it was Ruby that held my contract. I nearly strangled that bitch when she told me. She'd had me tied up in knots for months, worrying about Sam, about hell, when it'd been her all along."

"Yeah well, at least she let you go. She wasn't lying by the way, about intending to let you go from the start. She'd only just strung you boys along because she needed your help to get rid of Lilith."

"How do you know all this?"

Jo smiled, and it made something in Dean's chest tighten. "I just know."

Dean nodded slowly. "And now you're telling me that I can go back to that day and change what? Not accept Ruby's offer to give Sam his life back in exchange for me to give up hunting, to let her and her new coven exist quietly? Don't you know how hard it was for me to give up the only thing I'd ever known? To let her go when who knows what kind of evil she might've unleashed herself? And I did it for Sam, so that he could have everything he'd ever wanted and not ever have to know that there were things out there in the dark, evil, terrible things, things that destroy people's lives."

"But Dean, it wasn't your decision to make! You ruined your life in the process," she told him sadly, "and let ten years go by without lifting a finger to help anyone…or to help yourself."

"But what about Sammy? How can I ruin _his_ life, Jo? How? How am I supposed to live with that?"

One tear, than another, slid down Jo's porcelain skin, and she moved closer to Dean, one hand cupping his cheek gently. "Dean, it's already starting to come apart for him. I've seen him, at night, and when he's alone in his office, I've seen him try and deal with the visions and struggle to piece it all together. It's destroying him. And one day, it will all come back in a rush and I can guarantee you it won't be pretty. He'll come looking for you, Dean, and you'll probably have drunk yourself to death, and he will really be alone then. Alone, Dean, and terrified, and lost."

"No, I can't, just no!" Dean ground out angrily, pushing her away roughly. Jo let out a shocked gasp as she fell against the passenger side door, her head bouncing off the window.

"Oh, Jesus, Jo, did I hurt you?" he asked, anguished, reaching out for her.

"No," she replied quietly and let him pull her close, his hand running over her scalp, searching for an injury. When he was sure she was ok, Dean held her, silent, his breath hitching in his chest, his body tight as a spring.

"I need to say something to you, before it's too late," Dean whispered into her hair. "You know, when you…when it happened, I was pretty torn up, and if you were there like you say, you'll know I'm not lying."

"I know," she told him softly, her cheek flat against the steady beat of his heart.

"I'm not sure that I knew back then how I felt about you, how much I really cared, but now, I know…now I'm sure. I love you Jo, probably always have, and I need to know if I make this choice, if you're gonna go…away, or if you're gonna stay or at least if I go back can I change what happened…"

Dean was crying now, and it was such a relief that he didn't even wipe the tears away. God, it had been so many years since he'd let himself cry.

"I'm sorry, Dean, I can't answer any of those questions for you. If I did, I might affect your decision and I'm not allowed to do that. I'm here to guide you but I can't…I can't tell you want you want to know."

Dean nodded slowly. "Story of my life; damned if I do, damned if I don't," he said bitterly, his entire body stiffening when he saw his brother coming out of his building. Dressed in a pricey suit, his hair still long but more fashionable, Dean watched him get into an expensive BMW sports car parked on the curb. Just when he thought that Sam would pull away, Dean watched in silent horror as his little brother clutched at his temples and fell forward, laying his forehead on the steering wheel while he waited for the crisis to pass. Dean's heart bled as he watched, the memory of Sam's visions from all those years ago flashing through his head like a macabre slide show. He watched as Sam took a few deep breaths and then got out of the car, looking around until he spotted the Impala.

"Dean, we have to go, I think he's seen us, recognized the car…"

"Jesus Christ," Dean muttered, turning the key, getting the car into gear as fast as he could.

In the rear view mirror, he could see his brother, running, and he could swear he heard him call out.

"Dean!!!"

**Part VI**

In the privacy of their room, Dean wept. Ten years worth of grief came flooding out in a tidal wave of tears and jumbled words, hardly any of them making sense, aside from Dean's fervent declarations of love. Jo held him as he cried, her heart shattering for him, for Sam and for herself. She couldn't tell Dean what he wanted to hear, couldn't offer him the solace he so desperately craved because it simply wasn't allowed. Dean's choice to go back to his old life had to be his and his alone. She had no idea what Sam would do if Dean chose to turn back the clock, but that too was out of her hands. If he stayed with Dean and continued to hunt or if he went back to school and moved on would have to be is own decision and not Dean's; it should never have been Dean's decision in the first place. Jo had been authorized by the powers she answered to, had been sent back into her old body and her old persona to give the brothers a chance to do it all again. To make their own choices, and hopefully, Jo thought, to continue saving people, to make the world a better place by ridding it of at least some of the evil that lurked in the darkness. As for her own fate, she couldn't tell Dean a thing, couldn't offer him any assurances that she'd even be there when he woke in the morning. She wanted to weep along with him, to lash out at the unfairness of it all, but she forced herself to remain calm, composed, while she let Dean cling to her, cooing inadequate words of comfort, her shirt soaked with his tears and sweat, her heart anguished with is pain.

When it was over, when his sobs had subsided to hicuppy breaths and quiet tears, Dean pushed Jo back onto the pillows, his mouth on hers, his tears on her face. He made love to her with an urgency that scared her, made her afraid of what was gong on in his head. She felt his mouth everywhere, his hands burning her skin as they stroked her body to life, his erection hard and demanding against her thigh. When he drove into her, he cried out her name and told her he loved her, over and over, still crying softly, his hands shaking from the intensity and from the alcohol withdrawal, and Jo could no longer contain her own tears, weeping silently along with him now, for the agony of lost time and uncertain tomorrows, her orgasm so intense she saw those clichéd fireworks and for a moment, her vision faded and she went limp in Dean's embrace.

Later, when they lay quietly in each other's arms, Jo told Dean that it was time to decide. Before the sun rose, he would have to choose.

"And then you'll disappear?"

"Dean…"

"Ask me again…before the sun comes up and I'll give you my answer. For now, just let me hold you, just let me pretend everything's gonna be ok."

**Part VII**

Kansas, 2008

Dean was bleeding from a dozen wounds, every inch of his body screaming in agony, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Sam was safe, Lilith was dead and he wasn't going to hell. It had been a mother of a fight, the bitch hadn't gone down willingly, and Dean was sure that he and Sam wouldn't be doing any hunting for a while at least. He lay there, breathing hard, the muddy earth beneath him soaking into his clothes, making him shiver, but for the moment, he didn't give a damn.

Sam sat beside him, a loud groan escaping his bloodied lips, his broken left arm dangling uselessly at his side. Dean reached out to him, squeezing his brother's good hand weakly, comforted when his brother squeezed back.

Above them stood a girl, with long blond hair and demon black eyes, her clothes covered in blood and gore, her breath coming in short, labored gasps.

"Are you two chuckleheads gonna laze around here all day?"

"Actually, yeah," Dean replied tiredly. "Or at least till I bleed to death."

"Funny, Dean. Better get up then, 'cause if you croak, I might just be tempted to take your damaged soul after all."

"Ha, ha funny. Give a guy a minute to catch his breath, will ya? We just saved the world, you know, can be pretty exhausting, something like that."

Ruby crossed her arms and glanced over at Sam, the younger Winchester busy trying to determine the extent of the damage to his twisted left arm.

"Dean, we need to talk," Ruby told him point blank, "Alone," she added quietly.

"No."

Ruby raised one brow. "What?"

"The answer is no. I know what you're gonna say, Ruby, and the answer is no."

"How can you possibly know?" she asked suspiciously.

Dean sighed, blood running from a jagged cut on his forehead, down his cheek, into his mouth. He used the back of his hand to clear as much as he could from his lips and turned his face to spit the rest on the ground. It was crazy, but he did know; he'd seen this moment in a flash in his head, like a memory or a vision a few nights before. At the time, he hadn't known what to make of it. But now, he understood. "I just know. Our business is concluded, Ruby, and it's time for you to go."

"I'll find you later, when you're not so lightheaded from…blood loss," she snarked.

"Ruby…don't, just don't. It's over, Sam and I are leaving Kansas tonight and hopefully we won't ever meet again. We helped you dispatch Lilith, I've got my soul back, so I'd say we're even."

The demon girl scowled darkly. "You'll be seeing me again, Dean."

"Yeah…whatever." Dean pushed himself up until he was sitting, and immediately started checking Sam for injuries. He didn't even look up when he heard Ruby walk away.

"What was that all about?" Sam asked, grunting in pain as Dean checked the knife wound in his shoulder.

"Nothing, Sammy, absolutely nothing."

"Dean?"

"Sam, forget it. Come on, Sasquatch, we need to find someone to set that arm." He stood, his legs shaking, one hand reaching down to pull Sam up.

"Jesus, Dean, you're a mess," Sam said worriedly. "We need to call Bobby, tell him it's over and get him to come patch you up."

"Sound good. I'll call him from the car. Hey Sammy? Can I ask you something?"

"Hmn?"

Dean swallowed hard, fighting the panic that clawed at his heart. "Where to now, bro? I mean this time, it's really over, at least for you. What do you really want to do, Sam?"

Sam grimaced, his broken arm hanging awkwardly at his side, his clothes splattered with blood, mud and gore. "Um, a shower? Couple of Vicodin, maybe a burger?"

Dean laughed. "Not now, you dumbass, I mean tomorrow, the next day. Will you be going back to school or I don't know, maybe an extended vacation or something?"

"What the fuck, Dean? You trying to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm just giving you a chance to have a normal life, you know, the whole white picket fence thing, a house, a real job, maybe a room over the garage for your big bro to visit on holidays."

"Yeah, and we can all sit around the fire at Christmas and tell the kids to watch out for pagan gods and Santa's evil brother…and of course we'll all exchange presents, protection amulets for the girls, sawed-off shotguns for the boys…"

"Your point being?"

"My point being, Dean, that it's never gonna happen, I don't even think I want it to happen. I haven't for a long time now. I mean, I'd like it if we had a place, you know, somewhere that we could go, when we needed to, but this, it's in our blood, Dean, and aside from a totally memory wipe, I doubt I could ever just go back to Stanford, forget we stopped the end of the world, killed demons, you know, stuff like that," he told his brother wryly.

Dean grimaced, one hand covering a nasty gash on his belly. "Promise me you'll think about it, alright?"

"I promise, now can we get the hell out of here? You're literally bleeding to death, big brother, and it's gonna take me forever to get you patched up with one arm."

"Bobby… we'll call Bobby," Dean reminded him as they limped towards the car.

"Yeah, Bobby, he'll patch us up in no time."

"You know what? You ring Bobby, I just remembered I've gotta call a friend in Duluth."

"Duluth? The only person you know in Duluth is Jo Harvelle, Dean. Since when are you two speaking to each other again?"

Dean felt a strange pressure in his chest that had nothing to do with his injuries. "Bout time we fixed that, don't you think?"

**Part VIII**

Tennessee, 2010

"Son of a bitch! I told her that this job was too dangerous," Dean ground out angrily, lifting Jo effortlessly from the forest floor, Sam following closely behind him as they hurried towards the car. The creature was dead, thanks to Sam, but not before it had taken a swipe at Jo. If they hadn't gotten there in time, if Dean hadn't pushed her out of the way, the gash on her shoulder would have been a gash across her throat, the thought alone leaving Dean breathless with terror. Sam quickly slid behind the wheel while Dean eased into the back seat, Jo still unconscious in his arms. "How many times am I gonna have to tell her that this job isn't for amateurs!"

"Calm down, Dean, she'd gonna be fine," Sam soothed, "you know she's had worse, we all have."

"Yeah, well I told her not to take this job! You know, her mother should friggin' tie her up or lock her in a closet or something next time she gets it in her head to go off on her own," Dean told his brother, dead serious. "Hurry, will you, Sam? It looks pretty bad."

"Dude, chill, we'll be there in 10 minutes. What are you gonna tell her, anyway, when she comes to and finds you hovering like her mother? She's gonna kick your ass…and mine for following her."

"I don't give a shit if she shoots me, Sammy, she's alive, and that's all that I care about."

Despite the graveness of the situation, Sam chuckled. "Is there something that you're not telling me, Dean? Because we've been 'accidentally' running into Jo a helluvalot lately."

"Dude, she's Ellen's daughter, she's like family! Of course we're gonna run into her and of course I'm worried about her, aren't you?"

"Well yeah, but you've been acting really strange these past few days, since you had that weird dream. By the way, what exactly did you tell her? Stay away from Tennessee, I had a dream that you died there?"

"Funny, Sam. I told her that I heard she was gonna work a dangerous job in Tennessee, said we'd come along," Dean said, pulling Jo closer against him as Sam took a wide left.

"And that's when she told you to kiss her ass and took off without telling anyone where she was headed."

"Stupid girl is lucky we traced her cell," Dean grumbled, wincing when he saw that the t-shirt he held against Jo's shoulder had gone completely crimson.

"Hurry, Sammy," Dean urged, trying to stay focused. It had been a freaky dream, and Dean hadn't been completely honest with Sam. He hadn't told his brother that Jo's death…and staring down at her corpse at her mother's place, had been more like a vision than a dream. That he saw himself weeping in her bedroom and holding Ellen as she sobbed at the funeral. Dean had been so terrified that he'd woken Sam at 4 am, sweating and shaking, and asked his brother if it had actually happened. Concerned, Sam tried to calm Dean, told him it was a bad dream, but he called her anyway, blocked his cell number since it was the middle of the night, just so Dean could hear her voice, prove to him that it was just a nightmare.

And now here they were, in Tennessee, with Jo's blood soaking into his clothes, staining his hands, the dream coming back to him in terrifying flashes.

"You called, Ellen, right? 'Cause if you didn't she's gonna rip me a new one, guaranteed."

"Dean, I called her, she's on her way. Now calm down, we're here," Sam said, pulling up to the emergency entrance of the clinic in town. Sam ran around the car and took Jo from Dean, hurrying in through the sliding glass doors. Dean took a long, steadying breath before he dragged himself out of the car and followed behind Sam, his bloody hands shaking, a sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach.

**Part IX**

Thankfully, Jo's injury wasn't as bad as it had looked. The ER doctor had stitched the gash, kept Jo for a few hours on a drip and then let the Winchesters take her back to the motel with a list of instructions and a stern warning against venturing into the forest alone. Jo had bitched and moaned from the second she'd regained consciousness and only took the painkillers and antibiotics after the doctor threatened to keep her in overnight.

When Dean tried to carry her to the car he'd received a swift kick to the shin for his mistake. The tension between the two of then on the ride back had Sam smirking and chuckling under his breath but when they finally stumbled into Jo's room, Sam beat a hasty retreat just as Jo chucked a boot at his head, leaving his brother to deal with her fury.

"Who the hell gave you permission to follow me?" Jo shouted, searching for something to throw at Dean.

"Your welcome!" Dean shouted, ducking when a bottle of body lotion sailed by him.

"Your think I should thank you? You totally messed up my hunt, nearly got me killed and you think I should thank you?" she said, deceptively calm, "because I'm thinking I should shoot you!"

"Listen, sister, you were about to get your head ripped off when we showed up. I saved your life, you ungrateful bitch!" he shouted back, but with no real malice. "Look, you mother's on her way, should be here in the morning so if you're alright, I'll just leave you to it."

Jo let an angry cry. "You called my mother, Dean? And you think you don't deserve a bullet in the kneecap for that alone?"

Dean let out a long breath, and sagged back against the door. "I don't want to fight, Jo. I'm tired, I'm dirty and we only came to Tennessee cause I thought you might need some help, not to piss you off."

Jo's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Is that an apology? Because if it isn't, I'm still waiting."

"OK, you want me to apologize? I will. Jo, I'm sorry I bothered you, I'm sorry my presence is so repulsive to you, I'm sorry I can't seem to stay away from you."

"What?"

Dean groaned. Had he really just said that?

"Look, if you're ok, I'd better go. Sam probably got us a room; I'll call you later to see if you need anything."

Jo stared at him dumbly, her whole body sagging with exhaustion. "I don't get you, Dean," she said finally, sinking onto the bed.

"If it's any consolation, I don't get me either," he replied, trying his best to cover his embarrassment with humor. He turned to go, one hand on the door knob and looked back to say goodnight just in time to see Jo keel over awkwardly onto the bed.

"Son of a bitch," he swore, crossing the room in two strides, grabbing her just before she rolled onto the floor.

"Jo, hey, open your eyes and bitch at me," Dean urged, slapping her cheeks gently.

Jo groaned and muttered something unintelligible, swatting Dean's palm away from her cheek with her good hand. It wasn't exactly what he'd hoped for but at least he knew she was alright. He checked the prescription bottle she'd left on the table and read the label; _Vicodin,_ that would do it, he thought, realizing that it was probably just a combination of exhaustion and the pills. He wasn't taking any chances though, so he called Sam on his cell and asked for a change of clothes, fully intending to stay until her mother showed up…whether Jo Harvelle liked it or not.

**Part X**

He woke sometime during the night, disoriented, his back aching from the chair he'd fallen asleep in. The room was pitch black, only a sliver of light from the streetlights peeking in through the curtains and Dean blinked, adjusting his eyes to the darkness.

He turned at once to the bed, fully expecting to find Jo fast asleep, profanity sliding off his tongue when he saw that it was empty.

"Calm down, Dean, you'll hurt something," Jo said from the chair by the window, her voice laced with sarcasm.

"Jesus, Jo, you scared the shit out of me."

She laughed. "Hope you haven't soiled your boxers, mine won't fit you."

"Funny," Dean said, stretching the kink out of his back. "What the hell are you doing up, anyway?"

"Couldn't sleep, woke up and saw you sitting there and got all tingly."

"You're a regular comedian, you know that? Ever consider doing stand up?"

He heard Jo sigh, a long, tired sound that made something clench in his gut. Why were they forever doing this? Dancing around each other, afraid, defensive. It was driving him insane, had been just about from the day he'd met her.

"Jo…"

"I had this weird, messed up dream a few days ago," Jo said, cutting him off. "And I woke up, totally freaked. Five minutes later, someone called me, number 'unknown', waited a few seconds and hung up."

"That would have been me. Right after I had a really weird, messed up dream, too," Dean confessed.

"I saw you, at my mother's, in my room, you were…"

"Crying," Dean finished, his throat tight.

"Yeah, it was disturbing, to say the least. Big, bad Dean Winchester…bawling on my futon."

"You done? 'Cause you've just about castrated me, you know."

"What's going on, here, Dean? Because it wasn't just that, there was more, but I have a feeling you know the rest."

"Yeah, it was pretty screwed up," Dean said softly. "So after that, I came here, and you threw a hissy fit."

"Is there any chance we can put aside the sarcasm, the bullshit, and just talk?"

"OK."

"OK," Jo said, moving towards him, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Dean felt his breath catch, her nearness unnerving him.

"You said some stuff earlier, and I wasn't too drugged to remember."

Dean sat up straighter, cleared his throat. "It's true, what I said, but honestly? I don't think it would ever work. We'd probably end up killing each other, or maybe your mother would kill me first…"

"Screw my mother, Dean. This isn't about her anymore. This is about you and me being afraid to get close. And yet, I can't shake this feeling that we'll never be free of each other, no matter how hard we try."

"It's funny that you say that, 'cause I can't seem to get you out of my head, and if I try and pinpoint when it really started, I'd have to say it was right after Sam and I sent Lilith packing. It was so weird, like a switch had been flicked and I had this urge to call you," Dean confessed, scrubbing at the stubble on his chin. "And the rest you know, excuses to pass by the bar, your Mom's place and all that."

"And now?" Jo asked him quietly, reaching out to caress his cheek, her touch causing him to gasp.

"Jo…"

"You know what? Don't say anything, don't even think. Just shut up and kiss me, Dean. Forget everything, forget the messed up dream, forget my mother, your brother, forget what happened with our fathers and just kiss…"

Dean didn't let her finish. He reached out and pulled her into his lap, mindful of her injured shoulder and dug his hands in her hair, pulling her mouth up to his, pushing away everything else just as she's said, until there was nothing and no one keeping them apart.

**Part XI**

They woke near seven, to the sound of someone pounding on the door. Dean bolted upright, cursing a blue streak, jolting Jo's injured shoulder in the process, and she cried out, the pain intensified by the sound of her mother's angry voice.

"Dean Winchester, is that you? If you've touched my daughter, I swear, I'm gonna blow your balls off!"

To Dean's credit, he didn't run for the window. Instead, he showered Jo with apologies, checking the bandage on her shoulder for blood. Only when he was sure she was ok did he get up to open the door. From her position on the bed, Jo watched in amusement as her mother pushed past him, her eyes scanning the room for any evidence that something other than sleeping had taken place in there.

"Just because you're both dressed doesn't mean you've fooled me, boy," Ellen said furiously.

"Hey Ellen, I'm fine, how 'bout you?"

"Don't you bullshit me, Dean Winchester, or I'll…"

"Mom, even if we'd wanted to do anything…which, by the way is none of your business…remember? Stitches??" Jo said, rising to stand between her mother and Dean. "And for your information, my sex life is really none of your concern!"

"Your sex life?" Ellen turned to glare at Dean. "Son, if I were you I'd get your brother and head for Canada before I get my hands on a shotgun!"

"Ellen, I'm in love with your daughter."

"What?" That, from both Ellen and Jo, mother and daughter staring at Dean like he'd just sprouted wings.

Dean ran a hand over the top of his head nervously. "I love you, Jo. You asked me last night if I could put aside all the bullshit and just speak my mind. And that's what I'm doing."

Something inside her burst, and Jo saw a flash of images, intense, heady images of her and Dean, but he looked older, sadder, and she gasped, the force of the vision sending her to her knees.

"Jo!" Dean cried out, catching her before she could hit the floor. He lifted her into his arms effortlessly, setting her down on the bed with a gentleness that she would have never expected from him, one hand running over her face, pushing back her hair, his eyes wild with worry.

Beside him, Ellen was spouting threats and calling Sam from her cell, yelling into the phone the various ways in which she intended to kill Dean if Sam didn't come and get him.

"Dean, I remember…"

Dean nodded, still caressing her face, his expression…loving. "I know, me too, I just haven't figured it all out yet. But we will…together."

Jo smiled, and reached for Dean's hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. "This is pretty freaky, even for us. The dreams, the visions…"

"Yeah, it is. Something happened to us and I'm pretty sure it has something to do with Ruby, but I haven't pieced it all together yet. But that doesn't matter now, nothing does," he told her softly, green eyes damp.

The moment froze like that for them, Dean looking at her with an intensity that stole her breath, his hand in hers, and hope burning in her heart.

Neither of them even noticed when Sam came in, hair mussed from sleep, his jeans undone, shirt buttoned haphazardly, nor did they hear his soft chuckle when he firmly guided a furious Ellen out of the room with a half-hearted promise to take Dean to Mexico for a few months.

Fin

_Then from on high, somewhere in the distance_

_There's a voice that calls, remember who you are_

_If you lose yourself, your courage soon will follow_

_So be strong tonight, remember who you are_

_Yeah your a soldier now, fighting in a battle_

_To be free once more…_

_Yeah that's worth fighting for_

_-Sound the Bugle, sung by Bryan Adams, written by Greenaway/Horn from the soundtrack Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron_

**Authors note: If anyone is still reading The Darkest Hour, guess what? I'm actually working on wrapping it up:)**


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